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In a dimly lit room sparsely furnished with only a bed and a table, tension hung thick in the air. A man dressed in dark attire stood beside a woman clad in a flowing blue blouse and matching skirt. Their gazes were fixed on the unconscious figure of a golden-haired woman lying motionless on the bed, her eyes shut tightly.
"Are you sure this place is safe, Rhys?" the woman asked, her voice laced with worry. Her raven-black hair framed her delicate features, and her expression flickered with unease. She glanced anxiously at both Sorayah and the door they had barricaded behind them. "Everything’s falling apart out there... the city is going to ruin."
Rhys exhaled deeply, his fingers running through his disheveled hair as the sounds of distant warfare echoed through the stone walls.
"I know," he replied grimly. "I had to shoot her with my arrow as there was no other way to take her without a fight. I have to discuss with her before she goes back with the beta lord. This was the only place I could think of that offered even a sliver of safety." His voice dropped lower, almost pleading. "Trust me, Anaya. She’ll wake up soon as the poison isn’t that toxic. I might as well say that the arrow wasn’t poisoned but it just looked like it was. And after the discussion, we’ll get her out of here before the war reaches this place."
Anaya’s lips pressed into a tight line, but she said nothing more. She simply turned her attention back to Sorayah, her brows drawn together in concern.
In the far corner of the room, the doctor they had abducted long before the siege began was working silently and urgently. He muttered to himself as he monitored Sorayah’s vitals and coaxed the remnants of poison from her system, having administered an antidote which he believes to work for any type of poison. Sweat dotted his forehead as he pressed a damp cloth to her skin and checked her pulse again.
Rhys stood and began to pace, his boots echoing dully against the stone floor. The cries of the wounded and dying filtered in faintly from beyond the room, distant but growing louder with each passing minute.
"Why is it taking so long for her to wake up?" Rhys demanded, his frustration finally bubbling over. He stopped and turned to the doctor, who had just finished checking her heartbeat.
"I...."
Before the doctor could respond, Sorayah stirred. Her body twitched weakly, and then, with slow deliberation, her eyelids fluttered open. Her breathing was ragged, but she was conscious.
"Water..." she whispered hoarsely, her throat parched, the single word barely audible.
"Your Highness!" Rhys exclaimed, falling to his knees at her bedside. His voice trembled with relief and reverence as he bowed his head low to the ground.
Sorayah blinked in confusion, the sound of his voice slowly cutting through the haze of pain and disorientation. Recognition dawned in her eyes. Rhys... Her loyal bodyguard. Her protector.
But she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was dry, her tongue heavy. Anaya was already moving, gently lifting Sorayah’s shoulders so she could sit upright. She held a cup of water to her lips, steadying it as Sorayah drank greedily, emptying it in one long gulp.
The arrow wound in her back still throbbed mercilessly, sending sharp flashes of pain through her spine, but she ignored it. Her heart was overwhelmed not with pain, but with emotion. Tears pooled in her eyes and spilled freely down her cheeks as her gaze locked onto Rhys, who still knelt humbly before her.
"I deserve to die a thousand times, Your Highness," Rhys said solemnly, his voice thick with guilt. "For harming your royal body, for daring to raise my weapon against you... even if it was to save you."
"Stand, Rhys," Sorayah said softly, her voice still weak but brimming with emotion. "If you had a reason, then I believe in it. You have always acted with loyalty."
Rhys hesitated for a moment before slowly rising, his eyes meeting hers at last. They were glassy with unshed tears. Without a word, he sat beside her bed, close but careful not to disturb her wound. The sadness in his face was profound, a heavy shadow that seemed to weigh down his every movement.
The silence in the room was no longer empty but it was filled with unspoken apologies, gratitude, and a bond that war could not break.
"I knew you were alive. I felt it. I knew you and my cousin were still breathing." Sorayah whispered through trembling lips, tears streaming freely as she reached out and clutched Rhys’s hand. Her touch was desperate, full of disbelief and raw emotion. "I’m so happy to see you Rhys."
"I knew you were too, Your Highness," Rhys replied softly, his voice thick with emotion as he tightened his grip on her hand. "I knew you were at Alpha Lupien’s pack. I’ve been planning to save you ever since. But then I heard you were sent to the general’s manor instead, and later, that you were to be taken to war with him. From that moment, I stayed alert, watching every move made by Dimitri’s warriors waiting for the right moment to act."
"I saw you both by the riverbank that day... while he was training you. That’s when I knew you’d be brought here. And I swore to be ready. I’m so sorry I had to hurt you to make it convincing. I had to distract Dimitri’s guards. Otherwise, the rescue wouldn’t have been successful." His eyes dropped in shame, his expression weighed down with guilt as he held Sorayah’s hand more firmly as if letting go means letting go of his life.
"Her Highness?" Anaya, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up, her tone edged with suspicion, her gaze fixed on Rhys and Sorayah’s hands locked together. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes narrowed as she stepped closer. "Is that just a nickname? Because she’s beautiful? Or maybe there’s something more?"